LETTERS 



WRITTEN BY THE LATE 



EARL OF CHATHAM, 



&c. &c. 






LETTERS 



4 , WRITTEX BY THE LATE 

. I r EARL OF CHATHAM 



TO HIS NEPHEW 

THOMAS PITT, ESQ. 

(afterwards lord camelford) 

THEN AT CAMBRIEGE, 



ODYSS. B. 272. 



NEW-YORK : 

PRINTED FOR E, SARGEANT AND CO, 

BY S. GOULD AND CO. 

180^. 



TO 



THE RIGHT HONORABLE 



WILLIAM PITT. 



Dropmore, Dec. S, 1803. 

MY DEAR SIR, 

Wf HEN you expressed to 
me your entire concurrence in my 
wish to print the' following letters, 
you were not apprized that this ad- 
dress would accompany them. By 

you it will, I trust, be received as a 

a21 



VI / 

testimony of affectionate fnendship. 
To others the propriety will be ob- 
vious of inscribing with your name 
a publication, in which Lord Chat- 
ham teaches, how great talents may 
most successfully be cultivated, and 
to what objects they may most hon- 
ourably be directed. 

GRENVILLE. 



THE 



EDITOR'S PREFACE. 



1 HE following letters were address- 
ed by the late Lord Chatham to his 
nephew Mr. Pitt, (afterwards Lord 
Camelford,) then at Cambridge. 
They are few in number, written for 
the private use of an individual dur- 
ing a short period of time, and con- 
taining only such detached observa- 



VIII 

tions on the extensive subjects to 
which they relate, £ts occasion might 
happen to suggest, in the course of 
familiar correspondence. Yet even 
these imperfect remains will un- 
doubtedly be received by the public 
with no common interest, as well 
from their own intrinsic value, as 
from the picture which they display 
of the character of their author. 
The editor's wish to do honour to the 
memory both of the person by whom 
they were written, and of him to 
whom they were addressed, would 
alone have rendered him desirous of 
making these papers public. But he 
feels a much higher motive, in the 
hope of promoting by such a publi- 



IX 

ition the inseparable interests of 
arning, virtue, and religion. By 
le writers of that school, whose 
bilosophy consists in the degrada- 
on of virtue, it has often been 
•iumphantly declared, that no ex- 
3ilence of character can stand the 
jst of close observation ; that no 
lan is a hero to his domestic ser- 
ants, or to his familiar friends, 
low much more just, as well as more 
piable and dignified, is the opposite 
mtiment, delivered to us in the 
^ords of Plutarch, and illustrated 
iroughout all his writings ! " Real 
irtue,'* says that inimitable moralist, 
is most loved, where it is' most 
early seen : and no respect which it 



X 



; 



commands from strangers, can eqi 
the never-ceasing admiration it € 
cites in the daily intercourse of c 
mestic life." t^? «a»j^/v^5 «f£7^5 »f 

}\.i(rru <pcitvelut ret f^et^.ts-ret (pettvof^evcc : 

Plut. Vit. Pericl: 

The folio Vving correspondence 
imperfect as it is, (and who will n 
lament that many more such lette 
are n t preserved?) exhibits a gre 
orator, statesman and patriot, in of 
of the most interesting relations 
private society. Not, as in the cah 
net or the senate, enforcing by a \ 
gorous and conuiianding eloqueno 



3M 



)se councils to which his country 
ed her pre-eminence and glory ; 
fc implanting with parental kind- 
is into the mind of an ingenuous 
Lith, seeds of wisdom and virtue^ 
ich ripened into full maturity in 
i character of a most accomplished 
m : directing him to the acquisition 
knowledge,* as the best itistru- 
nt of action ; teaching him by the 
tivation of his reason, to strengthen 
i establish in his heart those prin- 
'les of moral rectitude which were 



^ Ingenium illustre altioribus studiis juvenis 
lodum dedit ; non. ut nomine magniiko segne 
fii velaret, sed quo firmior adversCis fortuita 
1 publicam capesseret. 

Tacitus. 



Xll 

congenial to it; and, above all, < 
horting him to regulate the wh« 
conduct of his life by the predoi 
nant influence of gratitude, and ol 
diehce to God, as the only sii 
groundwork of every human duty ! 

What parent, anxious for the cli 
racter and success of a son, born 
any liberal station in this great ai 
free country, would not, in all th 
related to his education, gladly hai 
resorted to the advice of such a man 
What youthful spirit, animated ] 
any desire of future excellence, ai 
looking for the gratification of th 
desire, in the pursuits of honouralj 
ambition, or in the consciousness 



XIII 

an upright, active, and useful life, 
would not embrace with transport 
any opportunity of Hstening on such 
a subject to the lessons of Lord 
Chatham ? They are here before 
him. Not delivered with the autho- 
rity of a preceptor, or a parent, but 
tempered by the affection of a friend 
towards a disposition and character 
well entitled to such regard. 

On that disposition and character 
the editor forbears to enlarge. Their 
best panegyric will be found in the 
following pages. Lord Camelford is 
there described such as Lord Chat- 
ham judged him in the first dawn of 
liis vouth, and such as he coatinued 



XIV 

to his latest hour. The same suavity 
of manners, and steadiness of prin- 
ciple, the same correctness of judg- 
ment, and integrity of heart, dis- 
tinguished him through life ; and the 
same affectionate attachment from 
those who knew him best has fol- 
lowed him beyond the grave. 



QucG Gratia vivo 

— Eadem sequitur tellure repostum ! 

Of the course of study which 
these letters recommend, little can be 
necessary to be said by their editor. 
He is however anxious that a publi- 
cation, calculated to produce exten- 
sive benefit, should not in any single 



XV 

point mislead even the most super- 
ficial reader : nor would he, with all 
the difFerence which he owes to the 
authority of Lord Chatham, willingly 
appear to concur in the recommen- 
dation or censure of any works, on 
which his own judgment is materially 
different from that, which he is now 
the instrument of delivering to the 
world. 

Some early impressions had pre- 
possessed Lord Chatham's mind with 
a much more favourable opinion of 
the political writings of Lord Boling- 
broke, than he might himself have 
retained on a more impartial recon- 
rsideration. To a reader of the present 



XVI 

day, the " Remarks on the History 
of England " would probably appear 
but ill entitled to the praises which 
are in these letters so hberally be- 
stowed upon them. For himself, at 
least, the editor may be allowed to 
say, that their style is, in his judg- 
ment, declamatory, diffuse, and in- 
Tohed : deficient both in elegance 
and in precision, and little calculated 
to satisfy a taste formed, as Lord 
Chatham's was on the purest models 
of classic simplicity. Their matter 
he thinks more substantially defec- 
tive : the observations which they 
contain, display no depth of thought, 
or extent of knowledge -, their reason- 
ing is, for the most part, trite and 



xvir 

superficial; while on the accuracy 
with which the facts themselves are 
represented no reliance can safely be 
placed. The principles and charac- 
ter of their author Lord Chatham 
himself condemns, with just reproba- 
tion. And when, in addition to this 
ireneral censure, he admits, that in 
these writings the truth of history is 
occasionally warped, and its applica- 
tion distorted for party purposes, 
what further notice can be wanted 
of the caution with which such a 
book must always be regarded ? 

Lord Chatham appears to have 
recommended to his nephew, at the 
same time, the study of a \'ery dif- 



XVIII 

ferent work, the history of Claren- 
don : but he speaks with some dis- 
trust of the integrity of that vaki- 
abie writer. When a statesman 
traces, for the instruction of pos- 
terit}^, the hving images of the men 
and manners of his time ; the pas- 
sions by which he has himself been 
agitated, and the revolutions in which 
his own life and fortunes were in- 
volved, the picture will doubtless re- 
tain a strong impression of the mind,^ 
the character, and the opinions of its 
author. But there will ahvays be a 
^^ide interval between the bias of sin- 
cere conviction and the dishonesty of 
iiitentional misrepresentation. 



XIX 

Clarendon was unquestionably a 
lover of truth, and a sincere friend 
to the free constitution of his coun- 
try. He defended that constitution 
in parliament, with zeal and energy, 
against* the encroachments of pre- 
rogative, and concurred in the esta- 
blishment of new securities necessary 
for its protection. He did indeed, 
when these had been obtained, op- 
pose with equal determination those 
continua-lly increasing demands of 
parliament, which appeared to him 
to threaten the existence of the mo- 



* See particularly the accounts, in Rushworth 
and Whitelock, of Clarendon's parliamentary con- 
duct in 1640 and 1641 ; and of that of Falkland 
and Colpepper, with whom he acted- 



narchy itself: desirous, if possible, to 
conciliate the maintenance of public 
liberty with the preservation of do- 
mestic peace, and to turn aside from 
his country all the evils, to which 
those demands immediately and ma- 
nifestly tended.* 

The wish was honourable and 
virtuous, but it was already become 
impracticable. The purposes of irre- 



* A general recapitulation of these demands 
may be found in the message sent by the two 
Houses to the King, on the 2d of June, 1642 ; a 
paper which is recited by Ludlow as explanatory 
of the real intentions of the parliament at that pe- 
riod, and as being " in effect the principal foun- 
dation of the ensuing war." 

1 LupLow, 30. ed. 169S, 



XXI 

concileable ambition, entertained by 
both the contending parties, were 
utterly inconsistent with the re-esta- 
blishment of mutual confidence. The 
parliamentary leaders openly grasped 
at the exclusive possession of all civil 
and all military authority : And on 
the other hand, tlie perfidy with which 
the king had violated his past engage- 
ments still rankled in the hearts of 
liis people, whose just suspicions of 
his sincerity were continually re- 
newed by the unsteadiness of his 
conduct, even in the very moments 
of fresh concession : While, amongst 
a large proportion of the community, 
every circumstance of civil injury or 
oppression v/as inflamed and aggra- 



XXII 

rated by the utmost violence of reli- 
gious animosity. 

In this unhappy state the calami- 
ties of civil war could no longer be 
averted; but the miseries by which 
the contest was attended, and the 
military tyranny to which it so 
naturally led, justified all the fears 
of those who had f]*om the begin- 
ning most dreaded that terrible ex- 
tremity. 

At the restoration the same vir- 
tuous statesman protected the con- 
stitution against the blind or in- 
terested zeal of excessive loyalty : 
and, if Monk had the glory of re- 



xxiir 

storing the monarchy of England, 
to Clarendon is ascribed the merit of 
re-establishing her laws and liberties. 
A service no less advantageous to 
the crown than honourable to him- 
self; but which was numbered among 
the chief of those offences for which 
he was afterwards abandoned, sacri- 
ficed, and persecuted by his unfeeling, 
corrupt, and profligate master. 

These observations respecting one 
of the most upright characters of our 
historv, are here delivered with free- 
dom, though in some degree opposed 
to so high an authority. The habit 
of forming such opinions fbr our- 
selves, instead of receiving them from 



XXIV 

Others, is not the least among the 
advantages of such a course of read- 
ing and reflection as Lord Chatham 
recommends. 

It will be obvious to every reader 
on the shghtest perusal of the fol- 
lowing letters, that they were never 
intended to comprize a perfect system 
of education, even for the short por- 
tion of time to -^^hich they relate. 
Many points in which they will be 
found deficient, were undoubtedly 
supplied by frequent opportunities of 
personal intercourse, and much was 
left to the general rules of study 
established at an English university. 
Still le§s therefore should the tem- 



XXV 

poraiy advice addressed to an in- 
dividual, whose previous education 
had laboured under some disadvan- 
tage, be understood as a general dis- 
suasive from the cultivation of Gre- 
cian literature. The sentiments of 
Lord Chatham were in direct oppo- 
sition to any such opinion. The 
manner in w4iich, even in these let- 
ters, he speaks of the first of poets, 
and the greatest of orators , and the 
stress which he lays on the benefits 
to be derived from their immortal 
works, could leave no doubt of his 
judgment on this important point. 
That judgment was aftenvards most 
unequivocally manifested, when he 

was called upon to consider the ques- 
c 



XXVI 

tion with a still higher interest, not 
only as a friend and guardian, but 
also as a father. 

A diligent study of the poetry, 
the history, the eloquence, and the 
philosophy of Greece, an intimate 
acquaintance with those writings 
which have been the admiration of 
every age, and the models of all 
succeeding excellence, would un- 
doubtedly have been considered by 
him as an essential part of any gene^ 
ral plan for the education of an Eng- 
lish gentleman, bom to share in the 
councils of his country. Such a 
plan must also have comprized a 
much higher progress, than is here 



XXV 11 

traced out, in mathematics, in the 
science of reason, in natural,* and 
in moral philosophy ; inchiding in 
the latter the proofs and doctrines 
of that revelation by which it lias 
been perfected. Nor would the 
work have been considered by him 
as finished, until on these foundations 
there had been built an accurate 
knowledge of the origin, nature, and 



* A passage has been quoted above from the 
Life of Pericles. The editor cannot refrain from 
once more referring his reader to the same beauti- 
ful work, for the description of the benefits which 
that great statesman derived from the study of 
natural philosophy. 

The lessons of Anaxagoras, says our author, 
gave elevation to his soul, and sublimity to his 



XXV I II 

safeguards of government and civil 
liberty 5 of the principles of public 
and municipal law ; and of the theory 
of political, commercial, financial, 
and military administration ; as re- 
sulting from the investigations of 
philosophy, and as exemplified in the 
lessons both of ancient and of modern 
history. 

'' I call that,'* says Milton, " a 
complete and generous education, 
v/hich fits a man to perform justly, 

eloquence ; they diffused over the whole tenor of 
his life a temperate and majestic grandeur ; 
taught him to raise his thoughts from the works 
of Nature to the contemplation of that Perfect 
and Pure Intelligence from which they ori- 



XXIX 

kiUuIly, and magnanimously, all 
lie oiTices, both public and private, 
f peace and war." 

This is the purpose to which all 
nowledge is subordinate ; the test 

all intellectual and all moral ex- 
dlence. It is the end to which the 
ssons of Lord Chatham aia uni- 
rmly directed. May they contri- 
ite to promote and encourage its 



ate ; and, (as Plutarcli expresses jt, in words 

t miglit best describe a Christian philosopher,) 

billed into h^ mind, instead of ihs dark and 

ful superstition of his times, that piecy whicU 

onfirmed by Reason and anim?'? 1 by Hope : 

ii>,7J (Aif iK-Tri^wv aya&ij'v it/iri[luoi)> hi^yoi^ilc. 



XXX 

pursuit ! Recommended, as they 
must be, to the heart of every reader^ 
by their warmth of sentiment andi 
eloquence of language j deriving ad- 
ditional weight from the affectionate 
interest by which they were dictated] 
and most of all enforced by the ii^ 
fluence of his own great example 
and by the authority of his venerabW 
name. 

Dropmore, 
Dec. 3, 180.S- 



LETTERS, 



LETTERS, &c, 



• ■i>i 



LETTER L 



MY DEAR CHILD, 

1 AM extremely pleased with 
your translation now it is writ over 
fair. It is very close to the sense of 
the original, and done, in many places, 
with much spirit, as well as the num- 
bers not lame, or rough. However' 
an attention to Mr. Pope's numbers 
will make you avoid some ill sounds. 



and hobbling of the verse, by only 
transposing a word or two, in many 
instances. I have, upon reading the 
Eclogue over again, altered the third, 
fourth, and fifth lines, in order to 
bring them nearer to the Latin, as 
well as to render some beauty which 
is contained in the repetition of words 
in tender passages ; for example, Nos 
Patriae fines, et dulcia linquimis arva, 
Nos Patriam fugimus . Tu Tityre 
lentus in umbra Formosam resonare 
doces AmaryUida Sylvas. We leave 
our native land, these fields so sweet. 
Our country leave : At ease, in cool 
retreat. You Thyrsis bid the woods 
fair Daphne's name repeat. I will 
desire you to write over another 



copy with this alteration, and also to 
write smoaks in the plural number, 
in the last line but one. You give 
me great pleasure, my dear child, in 
the progress you have made. I will 
recomm.end to Mr. Leach to carry 
3'ou quite through Virgil's JEneid 
from beginning to ending. Pray 
shew liim this letter, with my service 
to him, and thanks for his care of 
you. For English poetry, I recom- 
mend Pope's translation of Homer, 
and Dryden's Fables in particular. 
I am not sure, if they are not called 
Tales instead of Fables. Your cousin, 
w^hom I am sure you can overtake 
if you will, has read Virgil's iEneid 
quite through, and much of Horace's 



Epistles, Terence's plays I would 
also desire Air. Le^ch to make you 
perfect mastpr of. Your cousin has 
read them all. Go on my dear, 
and you will at least equal him. You 
are so good that I have nothing to 
wish but that you may be directed 
to proper books , and I trust to your 
spirit, and desire to be praised for 
things that deserve praise, for the 
figure you will hereafter make. God 
bless you, my dear child. 

Your n^Qst affectionate Uncle. 



LETTER IL 



J3ath, Oct. 12, 1751, 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, 

As I have been moving 
about from place to place, your letter 
reached me here, at Bath, but very 
lately, after making a considerable 
circuit to fmd me. I should have 
otherwise, my dear child, returned 
you thanks for the very great plea- 
sure you have given me, long before 

D 



now. Tlie very good account you 
give me of your studies, and that de- 
livered in very good Latin, for your 
time, has filled me with the highest 
expectation of your future improve- 
ments : I see the foundations so well 
laid, that I do not make the least 
doubt but you will become a perfect 
good scholar ; and have the pleasure 
and applause that will attend the se- 
veral advantages hereafter, in the 
future course of 3^0 ur life, that you 
can only acquire now by your emula- 
tion and noble labours in the pursuit 
of learning, and of every acquirement 
that is to make you superior to other 
gentlemen. I rejoice to hear that 
you have begun Homer's Iliad y and 



have made so great a progress in 
Virgil. I liope you taste and love 
those authors particularly. You can- 
not read them too much : they are 
not only the two greatest poets, but 
they contain the finest lessons for 
your age to imbibe : lessons of honor, 
courage, disinterestedness, love of 
truth, command of temper, gentle- 
ness of behaviour, humanity, and in 
one word, virtue in its true signifi- 
cation. Go on, my dear nephew, 
and drink as deep as you can of these 
divine springs : the pleasure of the 
draught is equal at least to the pro- 
digious advantages of it to the heart 
and morals. I hope you will drink 
them as somebody does in Virgil, of 



another sort of cup : Ille Impiger 
hausit spiimantem Pateram. 

I shall be highly pleased to hear 
from you, and to know what authors 
give you most pleasure. I desire my 
service to Mr. Leech : pray tell him 
I will write to him soon about your 
studies. 

I am, with the greatest affection. 

My dear Child, 



Your loving uncle. 



LETTER III. 



Bath, Jan. 12, 1754. 
MY DEAR NEPHEW, 

Your letter from Cambridge 
affords me many very sensible plea- 
sures : first, that you are at last in a 
proper place for study and improve- 
ment, instead of losing any more of 
that most precious thing, time, in 
London. In the next place that you 

seem pleased with the particular so- 

d2 



10 

ciety you are placed in, and with the 
gentleman to whose care and instruc- 
tions you are committed : and above 
all I applaud the sound, right sense, 
and love of virtue, which appears 
through your whole letter. You are 
already possessed of the true clue to 
guide you through this dangerous 
and perplexing part of your life's 
journey, the years of education ^ and 
upon which, the complexion of all 
the rest of your daj^s will infallibly 
depend : I say you have the true clue 
to guide you, in the maxim you lay 
down in your letter to me, namely, 
that the use of learning is, to render 
a man more wise and virtuous ; not 
merely to make him more learned. 



11 

Macte tua Virtute ; Go on, my dear 
boy, by this goldeii rule, and you 
cannot fail to become every thing 
your generous heart prompts you to 
wish to be, and that mine most affec- 
tionately wishes for you. There is 
but one danger in your way ; and 
that is, perhaps, natural enough to 
your age, love of pleasure, or the 
fear of close application and laborious 
diligence. With the last there is 
nothing you may not conquer : and 
the first is sure to conquer and in- 
slave whoever does not strenuously 
and generously resist the first allure- 
ments of it, lest by small indulgencies, 
he fall under the yoke of irresistible 
habit. Vitanda est Irnproba Siren, 



u 



Desidia, I desire may be affixt to the 
curtains of your bed, and to the walk 
of your chambers. If you do not rise 
early, you never can make any pro- 
gress worth talking of; and another 
rule is, if you do not set apart your 
hours of reading, and never suffer 
yourself or any one else to break in 
upon them, your days will slip through 
your hands, unprofitably and frivo- 
lously ; unpraised by all you wish to 
please, and really unenjoyable to your- 
self. Be assured, wdiatever you take 
from pleasure, amusements, or indo- 
lence, for these first few years of 
your life, will repay you a hundred 
fold, in the pleasures, honours, and 
advantages of all the remainder of 



13 

jour days. My heart is so full of the 
most earnest desire that you should 
do well, that I find my letter has run 
into some length, which you will, I 
know, be so good to excuse. There 
remains now no tiling to trouble you 
with but a little plan for the begin- 
ning of your studies, which I desire, 
in a particular manner, may be exact- 
ly followed in every tittle. You are 
to qualify yourself for the part in 
society, to which your birth and es- 
tate call you. You are to be a gen- 
tleman of such learning and qualifica- 
tions as may distinguish you in the 
service of your country hereafter; 
not a pedant, who reads only to be 
called learned^ instead of c-onsider- 



14 



ing learning as an instrument only 
for action. Give me leave therefore, 
my dear nephew^, who have gone be- 
fore you, to point out to you the 
dangers in your road ; to guard you 
against such things, as I experience 
my own defects to arise from; and 
at the same time, if I have had any 
little successes, in the world, to guide 
you to what I have drawn many 
helps from. I have not the pleasure 
of knowing the gentleman who is 
your tutor, but I dare say he is every 
way equal to such a charge, which I 
think no small one. You will com- 
municate this letter to him, and I 
hope he will be so good to concur 
with me, as to the course of study I 



15 

desire you may begin with ; and that 
such books, and such only, as I have 
pointed out may be read. They 
are as follows : Euclid ; a course of 
Logic ; a Course of experimental 
Philosophy ; Locke's Conduct of the 
Understanding ; his Treatise also on 
the Understandings his Treatise on 
Government, and Letters on Tolera- 
tion. I desire, for the present, no 
books of poetry, but Horace and Vir- 
gil : of Horace the Odes, but above 
all, the Epistles and Ars Poetica. 
These parts, Nocturna versate manu, 
versate diurna. Tully de OfTiciis, 
de Amicitia, de Senectute. His Ca- 
tilinarian Orations and Philippics. 
Sallust. At leisure hours, an abridg- 



16 

merit of the History of England to 
be run through in order to settle in 
the mind a general chronological 
order and series of principal events, 
and succession of kings : proper books 
of English history, on the true prin- 
ciples of our happy constitution, shall 
be pointed out afterwards. Burnet's 
History of the Reformation, abridged 
by himself, to be read with great 
care. Father Paul on beneficiary 
Matters, in English. A French mas* 
tcr, and only Mohere's Plays to be 
read with him, or by yourself, till 
you have gone through them all. 
Spectators, especially Mr. Addison ^'5 
papers, to be read very frequently at 
broken times in yoiu* room, I make 



17 . 

it my request that you will forbear 
drawing, totally, while you are at 
Cambridge : and not meddle with 
Greek, otherwise than to know a little 
the etymology of words in Latin, or 
English, or French : nor to meddle 
with Italian. I hope this little course 
will soon be run through : I intend it 
as a general foundation for many 
things, of infinite utility, to come as 
soon as this is finished. 

Believe me, 

With the ti'uest affection. 

My dear Nephew, 

Ever yours. 

Keep tliis letter and read it again. 

E 



18 



LETTER IV. 



Bath, Jan. U, 1754. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, 

You will hardly have read 
over one very long letter from me 
before you are troubled with a second. 
I intended to have writ soon, but I 
do it the sooner on account of your 
letter to your aunt, which she trans- 
mitted to me here. If any thing, 
my dear boy, could have happened 



^- 



Id 

to raise you higher in my esteem, 
and to endear you more to me, it is 
the amiable abhorrence you feel for 
the scene of vice and folly, (and of 
real misery and perdition, under the 
false notion of pleasure and spirit,) 
which has opened to you at your col- 
lege, and at the same time, the manly, 
brave, generous, and wise resolution 
and true spirit, with which you re- 
jsisted and repulsed the first attempts 
upon a mind and heart, I thank God, 
infinitely too firm and noble, as well 
as ttw) elegant and enlightened, to be 
in any danger of yielding to such 
contemptible and wretched corrup- 
tions. You charm me with the de- 



20 

scription of Mr. Wheler,* and while 
3*ou say you could adore him, I could 
adore you for the natural, genuine 
Jove of virtue, which speaks in all 
you feel, say, or do. As to your 
companions let this be your rule. 
Cultivate the acquaintance with Mr. 
Wheler which you have so fortu- 
nately begun : and in general, be sure 
to associate with men much older than 
yourself: scholars whenever you can : 
but always with men of decent and 
honourable lives. As their age and 



* The Rev. John Wheler, prebendary of West- 
minster. The friendship formed between this 
gentleman and Lord Camelford at so early a period 
cf their lives, was founded in mutual esteem, and 
continued uninterrupted till Lord Camelford's death. 



^1 

Jeaming, superior both to your own, 
must necessarily, in good sense, and 
in the view of aajuiring knowledge 
from them, entitle them to all de- 
ference, and submission of your own 
lights to theirs, you will particularly 
practise that first and greatest rule 
for pleasing in conversation, as well 
as for drawing instruction and im- 
provement from the company of one's 
superiors in age and knowledge, 
namely, to be a patient, attentive, 
and well-bred hearer, and to answer 
with modesty: to dehver your own 
opinions sparingly and with proper 
diffidence j and if you are forced to 
desire farther information or explana- 
tion upon a point, to do it with proper 
e2 



22 

apologies for the trouble you give : 
or if obliged to differ, to do it with 
all possible candour, and an unpreju- 
diced desire to find and ascertain 
truth, with an entire indifference to 
the side on which that truth is to be 
found. There is likewise a particular 
attention required to contradict with 
good manners; such as, begging par- 
don, begging leave to doubt, and 
such like phrases. Pythagoras en- 
joined his scholars an absolute silence 
for a long noviciate. I am far from 
approving such a taciturnity : but I 
highly recommend the end and intent 
of Pythagoras's injunction ; which is 
to dedicate the first parts of life more 
to hear and learn, in order to collect 



25 

materials, out of which to form opi- 
nions founded on proper lights, and 
well-examined sound principles, than 
to be presuming, prompt, and flippant 
in hazarding one's own slight crude 
notions of things ^ and thereby ex- 
posing the nakedness and emptiness 
of the mind, like a house opened to 
company before it is fitted either 
with necessaries, or any ornaments 
for their reception and entertainment. 
And not only will this disgrace follow 
from such temerity and presumption, 
but a more serious danger is sure to 
ensue, that is, the embracing errors 
for truths, prejudices for principles ^ 
and when that is once done, (no mat- 
ter how vainly and weakly,) the ad- 



Si 

hering perhaps to false and dangerous 
liotions, only becau3e one lias declared 
ior them, and submitting, for life, 
the understanding and conscience to 
a yoke of base and servile prejudices, 
vainly taken up and obstinately re* 
tained. This will never be your 
danger ; but I thought it not amiss 
to offer these reflections to your 
thoughts. As to your manner of be- 
having towards these unhappy young 
gentlemen you describe, let it be 
manly and easy ; decline their parties 
with civility ; retort their raillery 
with raillery, always tempered with 
good breeding: if they banter your 
regularity, order, decency, and love 
of study, banter in return their neg- 



25 

led of them; and venture to own 
frankly, that you came to Cambridge 
to learn what you can, not to follow 
what they are pleased to call pleasure. 
In short, let your external behaviour 
to them be as full of pohteness and 
ease as your inward estimation of 
them is full of pity, mixed with con- 
tempt. I come now to the part of 
the advice I have to offer to you, 
which most nearly concerns your 
welfare, and upon which every good 
and honourable purpose of your life 
will assuredly turn ; I mean the keep- 
ing up in your heart the true senti- 
ments of religion. If you are not 
right towards God^ you can never b^ 
so towards man : the noblest senti- 



26 

cment of the human breast is here 
brought to the test. Is gratitude in 
the number of a man's virtues ? if it 
be, the. highest benefactor demands 
the warmest returns of gratitude, 
love, and praise: Ingratum qui dix^ 
Tit, omnia dixit. If a man wants 
this virtue where there; ^re infinite 
obligations to excite and quicken it, 
he will be likely to wajnt all others 
to^^ards his fellow-creatures, %vhose 
utmost gifts are poor compared to 
those he daily receives at the hands 
t)f his never-failing Almighty Friend. 
Remember thy Creator in the days 
of thy youth, is big with the deepest 
wisdom : The fear of the Lord is the 
beginning of wisdom j and, an up- 



right heart, that is understanding. 
This is eternajly trae> whether the 
wits and rakes of Cambridge allow it 
or not: na\% I must add of this re- 
ligious wisdom. Her ways are ways of 
pleasantness, and all her paths- are 
peace, whatever your young gentle- 
n^enof pleasure think of a whore and 
a bottle, a tainted health and batter- 
ed constitution. Hold fast therefore 
by this sheet-anchor of happiness. Re- 
ligion ; you will often want it in the 
times of most danger 3 the storms 
and tempests of life. Cherish true 
religion as preciously as you will fly 
with abhorrence and contempt super- 
stition and enthusiasm. The first is 
the perfection and glory of the hu-. 



I 



28 

man nature j the two last the depra- 
vation and disgrace of it. Remember 
the essence of rehgion is, a heart void 
of offence towards God and man ; not 
subtle speculative opinions, but an 
active vital principle of faith. The 
vrords of a heathen were so fine that 
I must give them to you : Compositum 
Jus, Fasque, Animi, Sanctosque Re- 
cessus Mentis, et incoctum generoso 
Pectus Honesto. 

Go on, my dear child, in the ad- 
mirable dispositions you have towards 
all that is right and good, and make 
yourself the love and admiration of 
the world ! I have neither paper nor 
words to tell you how tenderly 

I am yours. 



29 



LETTER V. 



Bath, Jan. 24, 1754, 

I WILL lose not a moment 
before I return my most tender and 
warm thanks to the most amiable, 
valuable, and noble minded of youths, 
for the mfinite pleasure his letter 
gives me. My dear nephew, what a 
beautiful thing is genuine goodness, 
and how lovely does the human mind 
appear, in its native purity, (in a na- 



00 

tare as happy as yours,) before the 

taints of a corrupted world have 

touched it ! To guard you from the 

fatal effects of all the dangers that 

surround and beset youth, (and many 

they are, nam varife illudunt Pestes,) 

I thank God, is become my pleasing 

and very important charge ; your 

own choice, and our nearness in 

blood, and still more, a dearer and 

nearer relation cf hearts, which I 

feel between us, all concur to make 

it so. I shall seek then every occa^ 

sion, my dear young friend, of being 

useful to you, by offering you those 

lights, which one must have lived 

some years in the world to see the 

full force and extent of, and which 



31 

the best mind and clearest under- 
standing will suggest imperfectly, in 
any case, and in the most difficult, 
delicate, and essential points perhaps 
not at all. till experience, that dear- 
bought instructor, comes to our as- 
sistance. What I shall therefore make 
my task, (a happy delightful task, if 
I prove a safeguard to so much open- 
ing virtue,) is to be for some years, 
what you cannot be to 3^ourself, your 
experience , experience anticipated, 
and ready digested for your use. 
Thus we will endeavour, my deaf 
child, to join the two best seasons of 
life, to establish your virtue and your 
happiness upon solid foundations : 
Aliscens Autumni et Veris Honores. 



32 

So much in general. I will now, my 
clear nephew, say a few things to you 
upon a matter where you have sur- 
prisingly little to learn, considering 
you have seen nothing but Bocon- 
nock ; I mean behaviour. Behaviour 
is of infinite advantage or prejudice 
to a man, as he happens to have 
formed it to a graceful, noble, en- 
gaging, and proper manner, or to a 
vulgar, coarse, ill-bred, or awkward 
and ungenteel one. Behaviour, though 
an external thing which seems rather 
to belong to the body than to the 
mind, is certainly founded in con- 
siderable virtues : though I have 
known instances of good men, with 
something very revolting and often- 



33 

sive ill their manner of behaviour^ 
especially when tliey have the mis- 
fortune to be naturally very awkward 
and ungenteel ; and which their mis- 
taken friends have helped to confirm 
them in, by telling them, they were 
above such trifles, as being genteel, 
dancing, fencing, riding, and doing 
all manly exercises, with grace and 
vigour. As if the body, because in- 
ferior, were not a part of the compo- 
sition of man : and the proper, easy,' 
ready, and graceful use of himself,- 
both in mind and limb, did not go to 
make up the character of an accom- 
plished man. You are in no danger 
of falling into this preposterous error :• 

and I liad a great pleasure in finding; 

f2 



34 

you, nhcii I first saw you in London, 
so well disposed by nature, and so 
i>ro!perly attentive to make yourself 
genteel in person, and well-bred in 
behaviour. I am very glad you have 
taken a fencing-master : that exercise 
will give you some manly, firm, and 
graceful attitudes : open your chest, 
place your head upright, and plant 
yoLi well upon your legs. As to the 
use of the sword, it is well to know 
it : but remember, my dearest nephew, 
it is a science of defence : and that a 
sjVYord can never be employed by the 
baud of a man of virtue, in any other 
^ause. As to the carriage of your 
person, be particularly careful, as 
you are tall and thin, not to get a 



35 

habit of stooping; nothing has so 
poor a look : above all ti- in gs avoid 
contracting any peculiar gesticula- 
tions of the body, or movements of 
the muscles of the face. It is rare 
to see in any one a graceful laughter; 
it is generally better to smile thart 
laugh out, especially to contract a 
habit of laughing at small or no 
jokes. Sometimes it would be affec- 
tation, or worse, mere moroseness, not 
to laugh heartily, when the truly 
ridiculous circumstances of an inci- 
dent, or the true pleasantry and wit 
of a thing, call for and justify it ; but 
the trick of laughing frivolously is 
by all means to be avoided : Risu 
inepto. Res incptior nulla est. Now 



36 

as to politeness ; many have at- 
tempted definitions of it : I believe 
it is best to be known by description ; 
definition not being able to comprise 
it. I would however venture to call 
it, benevolence in trifles, or the pre- 
ference of others to ourselves in little 
daily, hourly, occurrences in the com- 
merce of life. A better place, a more 
commodious seat, priority in being 
helped at table, &c. what is it, but 
sacrificing ourselves in such trifles to 
the convenience and pleasure of 
others ? And this constitutes true 
politeness. It is a perpetual atten- 
tion, (by habit it grows easy and na- 
tural to us,) to the little wants of those 
we are with, by which we either pre- 



37 

vent, or remove them. Bowing, 
ceremonious, formal compliments, 
stiff civilities, will never be polite- 
ness : that must be easy, natural, un- 
studied, manly, noble. And what 
will give this, but a mind benevolent, 
and perpetually attentive to exert that 
amiable disposition in trifles towards 
all you converse and live w-ith ? Be- 
nevolence in greater matters takes a 
higher name, and is the queen of 
virtues. Nothing is so incompatible 
with politeness as any trick of ab- 
sence of mind. I would trouble you 
with a word or two more upon some 
branches of behaviour, which have a 
more serious moral obligation in them, 
than those of mere politeness 3 which 



38 



are equally important in the eye of 
the world. I mean a proper beha- 
viour, adapted to the respective rela- 
tions we stand in, towards the dif- 
ferent ranks of superiors, equals, and 
inferiors. Let your behaviour to- 
wards superiors, in dignity, age, 
learning, or any distinguished excel- 
lence, be full of respect, diilirencey 
and modesty. Towards equals, no- 
thing becomes a man so well as well- 
bred ease, polite freedom, generous 
frankness, manly spirit, always tem- 
pered with gentleness and sweetness 
of manner, noble sincerity, candour, 
and openness of heart, qualified and 
restrained within the bounds of dis- 
cretion Jttid prudence, and ever li- 



39 

mited by a sacred regard to secrecy, 
in all things entrusted to it, and an 
inviolable attachment to your word. 
To inferiors, gentleness, condescen- 
sion, and affability, is the only digni- 
ty. Towards servants, never accus- 
tom yourself to rough and passionate 
language. When they are good we 
should consider them as humiles 
Amici, as fellow Christians, ut Con- 
servi; and when they are bad, pity, 
admonish, and part with them if in- 
corrigible. On all occasions beware, 
my dear child, of Anger, that daemon, 
that destroyer of our peace. Ira 
furor brevis est, animum rege qui nisi 
paret Imperat, hunc fraeni^ hmic tu 
compesce catenis. 



40 

Write soon and tell me of your 
studies. 

Your ever affectionate. 



41 



LETTER VI. 



Bath, Feb. 3, 1754: 

Nothing can; or ought to 
give me a higher satisfaction, than 
the obliging manner in which my 
dear nephew receives my most sin- 
cere and affectionate endeavours to 
be of use to him. You much over- 
rate the obligation, whatever it be, 
V/hich youth has to those who have 
trod the paths of the world before 



42 



Ihem, for their friendly advice how 
to avoid the inconveniences, dangers^ 
and evils, which they themsehes may 
iiave rim upon, for want of such 
timely warnings, and to seize, culti- 
vate, and carry forward towards per- 
fection, those advantages, graces, 
virtues, and felicities, which they 
may have totally missed, or stopped 
short in the generous pursuit. To 
lend this helping hand to those who 
are beginnings to tread the slippery 
way, seems, at best, but an office of 
common humanity to all ; but to 
withhold it, from one we truly love, 
and whose heart and mind bear every 
genuine mark of the very soil proper 
fx>r all the amiable, manly, and gc- 



AS 

nerous virtues to take root, and bear 
tht?ir heavenly fruit i inward, con- 
scious peace, fame amongst men, 
public love, temporal, and eternal 
happiness; to withhold it, I say, in 
such an instance, would deserve the 
worst of names. I am greatly pleased, 
my dear young friend, that you do 
me the justice to believe 1 do not 
mean to impose any yoke of authority 
upon your understanding and convic- 
tion. I wish to warn, admonish, in- 
struct, enlighten, and convince your 
reason ; and so determine your judg- 
ment to right things, when you shall 
be made to see that they are right ^ 
not to overbear, and impel you to 
adopt any thing before you perceive 



44 

it |to be right or wrong, by the fore« 
of authority, I hear with great plea- 
sure, that Locke lay before you, whea 
you writ last to mc ; and I like the 
observation that you xxiake from Iiim, 
that we must use our own reason, not 
that of another, if v»-e would deal 
fairly by ourselves, and hope to enjoy 
a peaceful and contented conscience. 
This precept is truly worthy of the 
dignity of rational natures. But 
here, my dear child, let me offer one 
distinction to you, and it is of much 
moment ; it is this : Mr. Locke's pre- 
cept is applicable only to such opi- 
nions as regard moral or religious 
obligations, and which as such, our 
Qwn consciences alonp can judge and 



45 

determine for ourselves : matters of 
mere expediency, that ailed neither 
honour, morality, or religion, were 
not in that great and wise man's 
view : such are the usages, forms, 
manners, modes, proprieties, deco- 
rums, and all those numberless orna- 
mental little acquirements, and gen- 
teel well-bred attentions, which con- 
stitute a proper, graceful, amiable, 
and noble behaviour. In matters of 
this kind, I am sure, your own reason, 
to which I shall always refer you, 
will at once tell you, that you must, 
at first, make use of the experience 
of others ; in effect, see with their 
eyes, or not be able to see at all ; 
for the ways of the world, as to its 



4& 



usages and exterior manners, as well 
as to all things of expediency and 
prudential considerations, a moment's 
reflection will convince a mind as 
right as yours, must necessarily be 
to inexperienced youth, with ever so 
fme natural parts, a terra incognita. 
As you would not therefore attempt 
to form notions of China or Persia 
but from those who have travelled 
those countries, and the fidelity 
and sagacity of whose relations you 
can trust ^ so will you, as httle, I 
trust, prematurely form notions of 
your own, concerning that usage of 
the world (as it is called) into which 
you have not yet travelled, and which 
must be long studied and practiced. 



it 

before it can be tolerably well known, 
I can repeat nothing to you of so in* 
finite consequence to your future wel* 
fere, as to conjure you not to be 
hasty in taking up notions and opi^ 
nions : guard your honest and in- 
genuous mind against this main dan- 
ger of youth : with regard to aM 
things, that appear not to your rea- 
son, after due examination, evident 
duties of honour, morality, or reli- 
gion, (and in all such as do, let your 
conscience and reason determine your 
potions and conduct) in all other 
matters, I say, be slow to form opi- 
nions, keep your mind iti a candid 
state of suspense, and open to full 
conviction when you shall procure it^ 



48 

iis'mg in the mean time the experience 
of a friend vou can trust, the sinceri* 
ty of whose advice you will try and 
prove by your own experience here- 
after, when more years shall have 
given it to you. I have been longer 
upon this head, than I hope there was 
any occasion for : but the great im- 
portance of the matter, and my warm 
wishes for your welfare, figure, and 
happiness, have drawn it from me. I 
wish to know if you have a good 
French master : I must recommend 
the study of the French language, to 
speak and write it correctly, as to 
grammar and orthography, as a mat- 
ter of the utmost and indispensable 
use to you, if you would make any 



49 

figure ill the great ^vorld, I need say 
no more to enforce this recommenda- 
tion : when I get to London, I will 
send you the best French dictionary. 
Have you been taught geography and 
the use of the globes by Mr. Leech ? 
if not, pray take a geography master 
and learn the use of the globes ; it is 
soon known. I recommend to you 
to acquire a clear and thorough no- 
tion of what is called the solar sys- 
tem ; together v/ith the doctrine of 
comets. I wanted as much or more, 
to hear of your private reading at 
home, as of public lectures, which I 
hope, however, you will frequent for 
examples sake. Pardon this long 



50 

letter, and keep it by you if you do 
not hate it . Believe me. 

My dear Nephew, 

Ever affectionately. 

Yours. 



51 



LETTER VII. 



Bath, March 30, 1754v 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, 

I AM much ob h'ged to 
you for your kind remembrance and 
wishes for my health. It is much 
recovered by the regular fit of gout, 
of which I am still lame in both feet, 
and I may hope for better health 
hereafter in consequence. I have 
thought it long wnce we conye rived: 



m 

I waited to be able to give you ix 
better account of my health, and in 
part, to leave you time to make ad- 
vances ill your plan of study, of 
which I am very desirous to hear an 
account. I desire you will be so 
good^ to let me know particularly, if 
you have gone through the abridge- 
ment of Burnet's History of the Re- 
formation, and the Treatise of Father 
Paul on Benefices ; also how much of 
Locke you have read. I beg of you 
not to mix any other English reading 
with what I recommended to you. 
I propose to save you much time and 
trouble, by pointing out to you such 
books, in succession, as will carry 
you the shortest way to the things 



55 

you must know to lit yourself for 
the business of the world, and give 
you the clearer knowledge of them, 
by keeping them unmixed with su- 
perfluous, vain, empty trash. Let mc 
Lear, my dear child, of your Frencii 
also ; as well as of those studies which 
are more properly universiLy studies. 
I cannot tell you better how truly and 
tenderly I love you, than by telling 
you I am most solicitously bent on 
your doing every thing that is right, 
and lavinty the fouixdations of vour 
future happiness and figure in the 
world, in such a course of improve- 
ment, as will not fail to make you a 
better man, while it makes you a 
more knowing one. Do you rise 



k 



early ? I hope you have already 
made to yourself the habit of doing 
it : if not, let me conjure you to ac- 
quire it. Remember your friend 
Horace. Et ni Posces ante Diem li- 
brum cum lumine, si non Intendes 
animum studiis, et rebus honestis, In- 
vidia vel Amore miser torquebere. 

Adieu. 



Your ever affectionate uncle. 



D^ 



LETTER VIII. 



Bath, May 4<, 1754. 



DEAR NEPHEW, 



I USE a pen with some dif- 
ficulty, being still lame in my hand 
with the gout : I can not however 
I delay writing this line to you on tlie 
course of English history I propose 
for you. 1^ you have finished the 
Abridgment of English History and 
of Burnetts History of the Reforma- 



66 



lion, I recommend to you next (before 
any other reading of history) Oldcas- 
tle's Remarks on the History of Eng- 
land, by Lord Bolingbroke. Let mc 
apprize you of one thing before you 
read them, and that is, that the au- 
thor has bent some passages to make 
them invidious parallels to the times 
he wrote in , therefore be aware of 
that, and depend, in general, on find- 
ing the truest constitutional doc- 
trines : and that the facts of history 
(though warped) are no where falsi- 
fied. I also recommend Nathaniel 
Bacon's Historical and Political Ob- 
servations ;* it is, without exception, 

* This book, though at present little known, 
formerly enjoyed a very high reputation. It h 



61 

the best and most instructive book 
we have on matters of that kind. 



•written with a very evident bias to the principles 
of the parliamentary party to which Bacon ad- 
hered ; but contains a great deal of very useful 
and valuable matter. It was published in two 
parts, the first in 1647, the second in 1651, and 
was secretly reprinted in 16r2, and again in 1682 ; 
for which edition the publisher was indicted and 
outlawed. After the revolution a fourth edition 
was printed with an advertisement, asserting, on 
the authority of Lord Chief Justice Vaughan, 
one of Selden's executors, that the groundwork of 
this book was laid by that great and learned man. 
And it is probably on the ground of this assertion 
that in the folio edition of Bacon's book, printed 
in 1739, it is said in the title-page to have been 
*' collected from some manuscript notes of John 
Selden, Esq." But it does not appear that this 
notion rests on any suiHcient evidence. It is how* 
ever manifest from some expressions in the very 
unjust and disparaging account given of this 

h2 



58 

They are both to be read with much 
attention and twice over ; Oldcastle's 
Remarks to be studied and almost 
got by heart, for the inimitable beauty 
of the style, as well as the matter. 
Bacon for the matter chiefly; the 
style being uncouth, but the expres- 
sion forcible and striking. I can 
write no more, and you will hardly 
read what is writ. 

Adieu, my dear child. 

Your ever affectionate uncle. 



work in Nicholson's Historical Library, (part i. p. 
IjO,). that Na'haniel Bacon was generally considered 
»<>i an iiniti^tor and follower of Selden. 



59 



LETTER IX. 

Astrop Wells, Sept. 5, 1754. 
MY DEAR NEPHEW, 

I HAVE been a long time 
without conversing with yon, and 
thanking you for the pleasure of 
your last letter. You may possibly 
be about to return to the seat of 
learning on the banks of the Cam; 
but I will not defer discoursing to 
you on literary matters till you leave 



60 



Cornwall, not doubting but jou are 
mindful of the muses amidst the very 
savage rocks and moors, and yet 
more savage natives, of the ancient 
and respectable dutchy. First, with 
regard to the opinion you desire 
concerning a common place book ; in 
general, I much disapprove the use 
of it : it is chiefly intended for persons 
who mean to be authors, and tends 
to impair the memory, and to de- 
prive you of a ready, extempore, use 
of your reading, by accustoming 
the mind to discharge itself of its 
reading on paper, instead of relying 
on its natural power of retention, 
aided and fortified by frequent re- 
visions of its ideas and materials, 



61 

Some things must be common-placed 
in order to be of any use ; dates, 
chronological order and the like ; 
for instance, Nathaniel Bacon ought 
to be extracted m the best method 
you can : but in general my advice 
to you is, not to common-place upon 
paper, but, as an equivalent to it, to 
endeavour to range and methodize 
in your head vvdiat you read, and by 
so doing frequently and habitually 
to fix matter in the memory. I de- 
sired you some time since to read 
Lord Clarendon's History of the 
civil wars. I have lately read a much 
honester and more instructive book, 
of the same period of history -, it 
is the History of the Parliament, 



62 

by Thomas May,* Esq. kc. I will 
send it to you as soon as you return 
to Cambridge. If you have not read 
Burnet's History of his own Times, 
I beg you will. I hope your father 
is well. My love to the girls. 

Your ever affectionate. 



* May, the translator of Lucan, had been 
much countenanced by Charles the First, but 
quitted the court on some personal disgust, and 
afterwards became Secretary to the Parliament. 
His history was published in 1647 under their 
authority and licence, and cannot by any means 
be considered as an impartial work. It is however 
well worthy of being attentively read ; and the con- 
temptuous character given of it by Clarendon (Life, 
vol. I. p. 35,) is as much belov/ its real merit w 
Clarendon's own history is superior to it. 



63 



LETTER X. 



Pay-Officc, April 9, 1755, 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, 

I REJOICE extremely to 
hear that your father and the girls 
are not unentertained in. their tra- 
vels : in the mean time your travels 
through the paths of literature, arts, 
and sciences, (a road, sometimes set 
with flowers, and sometimes difficult, 
laborious, and arduous,) are not only 



64 

infinitely more profitable in future, 
but at present, upon the whole, in- 
finitely more delightful. Aly own 
travels at present are none of the 
pleasantest : I am going through a 
fit of the gout; wath much proper 
pain and what proper patience I may. 
Avis au lecteur, my sweet boy : re- 
member thy Creator in the days of 
thy youth. Let no excesses lay the 
foundations of gout and the rest of 
Pandora's box ; nor any immoralities, 
or vicious courses sow the seeds of a 
too late and painful repentance. Here 
ends my sermon, which, I trust, you 
are not fuie gentleman enough, or 
in plain English, silly fellow enough, 
to laugh at. Lady Hester is much 



C5 

yours. Let me Iiear some account 
of vour intercourse with the muses, 



And believe me ever. 
Your truly most affectionate. 



LEITER XI. 



Pay-Office, April 15, 1755, 



A THOUSAND thanks to 
my dear boy for a very pretty letter, 
I like extremely the account you 
give of your literary life^ the re- 
flexions you make upon some West- 
Saxon actors in the times you are 
reading, are natural, manly, and sen- 
sible, and flow from a heart that will 



67 

make you far superior to any of 
them. I am content you should be 
interrupted (provided the interrup- 
tion be not long) in the course of 
your reading by declaiming in de- 
fence of the Thesis you have so 
wisely chosen to maintain. It is true 
indeed that the affirmative maxim, 
Omne solum forti Patria est, has 
supported some great and good men 
under the persecutions of faction and 
party injustice, and taught them to 
prefer an hospitable retreat in a 
foreign land to an unnatural mother- 
country. Some few such may be 
found in ancient times : in our own 
country also some 3 such was Alger- 
non Sidney, Ludlow, and others. 



6ii 



But ho^v dangerous is it to trust frail, 
corrupt man, with such an aphorism ! 
What fatal casuistry is it big with ! 
How many a villain might, and has, 
masked himself in the sayings of 
ancient illustrious exiles, while he 
was, in fact, dissolving all the nearest 
and dearest ties that hold societies 
together, and spurning at all laws 
divine and human ! How easy the 
transition from this political to some 
impious ecclesiastical aphorisms ! If 
all soils are alike to the brave and 
virtuous, so may all churches and 
modes of worship y that is, all will be 
equally neglected and violated. In- 
stead of every soil being his country, 
he will have no one for his country ^ 



(69 

he will be the forlorn outcast of mail- 
kind. Such was the late Bolingbroke 
of impious memory. Let me know 
when your declamation is o\er. 
Pardon an observation on style : ' I 
received yours' is vulgar and mer- 
cantile ; \ your letter' is the way of 
writing. Inclose your letters in a 
cover, it is more polite. ' 



i2 



70 



LETTER XIL 



Pay-Office, May 20, 1755. 
MY DEAR NEPHEW, 

I AM extremely concerned 
to hear that you have been ill, es- 
pecially as your account of an illness, 
you speak of as past, implies such 
remains of disorder as I beg you will 
give all proper attention to. By the 
medicine your physician has ordered, 
I conceive he considers your case iu 



71 

some degree neiToiis. If that be 
so, advise with him whether a httle 
change of air and of the scene, to- 
gether with some weeks course of 
steel waters, might not be highly 
proper for you. lam to go the day 
after to-morrow to Sunning Hill, in 
Windsor Forest, where I propose to 
drink those waters for about a month. 
Lady Hester and I shall be happy in 
your company if your doctor shall 
he of opinion that such waters may 
be of service to you ; which, I hope, 
will be his opinion. Besides health 
recovered, the muses shall not be 
quite forgot : we will ride, read, walk, 
and philosopliize, extremely at our 
ease^ and you may return to Can> 



72 

bridge with new ardour, or at least 
with strength repaired, when we leave 
Sunning Hill, If you come, the 
sooner the better, on all accounts. 
We propose to go into Buckingham- 
shire in about a month. I rejoice 
that your declamation is over, and 
that you have begun, my dearest 
nephew, to open your mouth in pub- 
lic, ingenti Patriae perculsus Amare. 
I wish I had heard you perform : the 
only way I ev'er shall hear your 
praises from your o^vn mouth. My 
gout prevented my so much intended 
and Mished for journey to Cam- 
bridge : and now my plan of drink- 
ing waters renders it impossible. 
Come then, my dear boy, to us 3 and 



73 

so Mahomet and the mountain meet, 
no matter which moves to the other. 
Adieu. 

Your ever affectionate. 



74 



LETTER XIII. 

July 13, 1755. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, 

I HAVE delayed writing to 
you in expectation of hearing farther 
from you upon the subject of your 
stay at College. No news is the best 
news, and I will hope now that all 
your difficulties upon that head are 
at an end. I represent you to myself 
deep in study, and drinking large 



75 

draughts of intellectual nectar; a 
very deilicious state to a mind happy- 
enough, and elevated enough, to thirst 
after knowledge and true honest 
fame, even as the hart panteth after 
the water brooks. When I name 
knowledge, I even intend learning as 
the weapon and instrument only of 
manlj', honourable, and virtuous ac- 
tion, upon the stage of the world, 
both in private and public life ; as a 
gentleman, and as a member of the 
commonwealth, who is to answer for 
all he does to the laws of his country, 
to his own breast and conscience, and. 
at the tribunal of honour and goo4 
fame. You, my dear boy, will not 
only be acquitted, but applauded an4 



76 

dignified at all these respectable and 
awful bars. So, macte tua virtute ! 
go on and prosper in your glorious 
and happy career ; not forgetting to 
walk an hour briskly every morning 
and evening, to fortify the nerves. 
I wish to hear in some little time, of 
the progress you shall have made in 
the course of reading chalked out. 
Adieu. 

Your ever affectionate uncle. 



Lady Hester desires her best com- 
pliments to you. 



77 



3:.ETTER XIV. 



Stowe, July 24, 1755. 
MY DEAR NEPHEW, 

I AM just leaving this place 
to go to Wottoii ; but I will not lose 
the post, though I have time bat for 
one line. I am extremely happy that 
you can stay at yoiu' college, and 
pursue the prudent and glorious reso- 
lution of employing your present 

K 



78 

moments with a view to the future, 
May your noble and generous love 
of virtue pay you with the sweet re- 
wards of a self-approving^ heart and 
an applauding country ! and may I 
enjoy the true satisfaction of seeing 
your fame and happiness, and of 
thinking that I may have been for- 
tunate enough to have contributed, 
in any small degree, to do common 
justice to kind nature by a suitable 
education ! I am no very good judge 
of the question concerning the books : 
I believe they are your own in the 
same sense that your wearing apparel 
is. I would retain them, and leave 
the candid and equitable Mr. * * * 



79 

to plan, with the honest Mr. * * '*', 
schemes of perpetual vexation. As 
to the persons just mentioned, I trust 
that you bear about you a mind and 
heart much superior to such maUce : 
and that you are as httle capable of 
resenting it, with any sensations but 
those of cool decent contempt, as 
you are of fearing the consequences 
of such low efforts. As to the caution 
money I think you have done well. 
The case of the chambers, I con- 
ceive, you likewise apprehend rightly. 
Let me know in your next vvhat 
these two articles require you to pay 
down, and how far your present cash 
is exhausted, and I will direct ISIr. 



80 

Campbell to give you credit ac- 
cordingly. Believe me, my dear 
Nephew, truly happy to be of use 
to you. 

Your ever affectionate. 



81 



LETTER XV. 



Wottor; Aug. 7, 1755, 



MY DEAR NEPHEW, 

I HAVE only time at present 
to let you know I am setting out for 
London ; when I return to Sunning 
Hill, which I propose to do in a. few 
days, I shall have considered the 
question about a letter to * * * *, and 
will send you my thoughts upon it. 

As to literature, I know you are not 

k2 



82 

idle, under so many and so strong 
motives to animate you to the ardent 
pursuit of improvement. For Eng- 
lish history, read the revolutions of 
York and Lancaster in Pere d'Orleans 
and no more of the father; the life 
of Edward the Fourth, and so down- 
wards all the life writers of our 
kings, except such as you have al- 
ready read. For Queen Ann's reign 
the continuator of Rapin. 

Farewell, my dearest nephew, for 
to-day. 

Your most affectionate uncle. 



83 



. LETTER XVI. 



Bath, Sept. 25, 1755. 



I HAVE not conversed with 
my dear nephew a long time : I have 
been much in a post-chaise, hving a 
wandering Scythian life, and he has 
been more usefully employed than in 
readmg or writing letters ; travelling 
througti the various, instructing, and 
entertaining road of history. I have 



84 

a particular pleasure in hearing now 
and then a word from you in your 
journey, just while you are changing 
horses, if I may so call it, and get- 
ting from one author to another. I 
suppose you going through the bio- 
graphers, from Edward the Fourth 
downwards, nor intending to stop 
till you reach to the continuator of 
honest Rapin. There is a little book 
I never mentioned, Welwood's Me- 
moirs ; I recommend it. Davis^s Ire- 
land must not on any account be 
omitted : it is a great performance, a 
masterly work, and contains much 
depth and extensive knowledge in 
state matters, and settling of coun- 
tries, in a very short compass. I 



have met with a scheme of chronology 
by Blaii% shewing all cotemporary, 
historical characters, through all 
ages : it is of great use to consult 
frequently, in order to {ik periods, 
and throw collateral light upon any 
particular branch you are reading. 
Let me know, when I have the plea- 
sure of a letter from you, how far 
you are advanced in English history. 
You may probably not have heard au- 
thentically of Governor Lyttelton's 
captivity and release. He is safe and 
well in England, after being taken 
and detained in France some days. 
Sir Richard and he met, unexpectedly 
enough, at Brussels, and came to- 
gether to England. I propose rer 



86 

turning to London in about a week^ 
where I liope to find Lady Hester as 
well as I left her. We are both much 
indebted for your kind and affection^ 
ate wishes. In publica commoda 
peccem Si longo sermone merer one 
bent on so honourable and virtuous a 
journey as you are. 



87 



LETTER XVII. 



Pay-OfEce, Dec. 6, 1755. 



Of all the various satisfac- 
tions of mind I have felt upon some 
late events, none has affected me 
with more sensibility and delight 
than the reading my dear nephew's 
letter. The matter of it is worthy 
of a better age than that we live in ; 
worthy of your own noble^ untainted 



S8 



mind; and the manner and expres- 
ision of it is such, as, I trust, will 
one day make you a powerful instru- 
ment towards mending the present 
degeneracy. Examlpes are unne- 
cesary to happy natures ; and it is 
well for your future glory and happi- 
ness that this is the case 3 lor to copy 
any now existing might cramp genius 
and check the native spirit of the 
piece, rather than contribute to the 
perfection of it. I learn from Sir 
Richard Lyttleton that we may have 
the pleasure of meeting soon, as he 
has ah'eady, or intends to offer you 
a bed at his house. It is on this, as 
Oil all occasions, little necessary to 
preach prudence, or to intimate a 



«9 

wish tliat your studies at Cambridge 
might not be broken by a long inter- 
ruption of them. I know the right- 
ness of your own mind, and leave you 
to all the generous and animating 
motives you fmd there, for pursuing 
improvements in literature and useful 
knowledge, as much better counsel- 
lors than 

Your ever most affectionate uncle. 



Lady Hester desires her best com- 
pliments. The little cousin is well. 



90 



LETTER XVIIL 

Horse Guards, Jan. SI, 1756. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, 

Let me thank you ^ 
thousand times for your remember- 
ing me, and giving me the pleasure 
of hearing that you was well, and 
had laid by the ideas of London and 
its dissipations, to resume the sober 
train of thoughts that gowns, square 
caps, quadrangles, and matin-bellS| 



91 

naturally draw after them. I hope 
the air of Cambridge has brought no 
disorder upon you, and that you will 
compound with the muses so as to 
dedicate some hours, not less than 
two, of the day to exercise. The 
earlier you rise, the better your 
nerves will bear study. When you 
next do me the pleasure to write to 
me, I beg a copy of your Elegy on 
your Mother's Picture j it is such ad- 
mirable poetry, that I beg you to 
plunge deep into prose and severer 
studies, and not indulge your genius 
with verse, for the present. Finiti- 
mus Oratori Poeta. Substitute Tullj 
and Demosthenes in the place of 
Homer and Virgil ; and arm yourself 



m 

with all the variety of manner, 
copiousness and beauty of diction, 
nobleness and magnificence of ideas 
of the Roman consul , and render the 
powers of eloquence complete by the 
irresistible torrent of vehement ar- 
gumentation, the close and forcible 
reasoning, and the depth and forti- 
tude of mind of the Grecian states- 
man. This I mean at leisure inter- 
vals, and to relieve the course of 
those studies, which you intend to 
make your principal object. The 
book relating to the empire of Ger- 
many, which I could not recollect, is 
Vitriarius's Jus Publicum, an admi- 
rable book in its kind, and esteemed 
©f the best authority in matters 



93 

much controverted. We are all well : 
Sir Richard is upon his legs and 
abroad again. 

Your ever affectionate uncle. 



l2 



94 



LETTER XIX. 



Havyes, near Bromley, May 11, 1756. 



My clear nephew's obliging 
letter was every way most pleasing : 
as I had more than began to think 
it long since 1 had the satisfaction 
of hearing he was well. As the 
season of humidity and relaxation 
is now almost over, I trust that the 
muses are in no danger of nervous 



9$ 

complaints, and that whatever pains 
they have to tell are out of the reach 
of Esculapius, and not dangerous, 
though epidemical to youth at this 
soft month. 

When lavish Nature^, in her best 

attire. 
Clothes the gay spring, the season 

of desire. 

To be serious, I hope my dearest 
nephew is perfectly free from all re- 
turns of his former complaint, and 
enabled by an unailing body, and an 
ardent elevated mind, to follow. Quo 
Te Ccelestis Sapientia duceret. My 
liolydays are now approaching, and 



96 

I long to hear something of your 
labours, which, I doubt not, will 
prove in their consequence more pro- 
fitable to your country a few years 
hence than your uncle's. Be so good 
to let me know what progress you 
have made in our historical and con- 
stitutional journey, that I may sug- 
gest to you some farther reading. 
Lady Hester is well, and desires her 
best compliments to you. I am well, 
but threatened with gout in my feet, 
from a parliamentary debauch till six 
in the morning, on the Militia. Poor 
Sir Richard is laid up with the gout, 

Your's most afTectionately. 



^7 



LETTER XX. 



Hayes, Oct. 7, 175^. 



I THINK it very long since 
I heard any thing of my dear nephew's 
health and learned occupations at the 
mother of arts and sciences. Pray 
give me the pleasure of a letter soon, 
and be so good to let me know what 
progress is made in our plan of read- 
ing. I am now to make a request 



9S 

to you in behalf of a young gentle- 
man coming to Cambridge, Mr. ***'s 
son. The father desires much that 
you and his son may make an ac- 
quaintance , as what father would 
not ? Mr. *** is one of the best 
friends I have in the world, and no- 
thing can oblige me more than that 
you would do all in your power to be 
of assistance and advantage to the 
young man. He has good parts, 
good nature, and amiable qualities. 
He is young, and consequently much 
depends on the first habits he fonns, 
whether of application or dissipation. 
You see, my dear nephew, what it is 
already to have made yourself Prin- 
ceps Juventutis. It has its glories 



99 

and its cares. You are invested with 
a kind of public charge, and the eyes 
of the world are upon you, not only 
for your own acquittal, but for the 
example and pattern to the British 
youth. Lady Hester is still about, 
but in daily expectation of the good 
minute. She desires her compliments 
to you. My sister is gone to How* 
berry. Believe me ever. 

My dear Nephew, 

Most affectionately yours, 



100 



LETTER XXI. 

Hayes, Oct. 10, 175^. 

J)EAR NEPHEW, 

I HAVE the pleasure to ac- 
quaint you with the glad tidings of 
Hayes. Lady Hester was safely de- 
livered this morning of a son. She 
and the child are as well as possible, 
and the father in the joy of his heart. 
It is no small addition to my happi- 
ness to know you will kindly share it 



101 

with me. A father must form wishes 
for liis child as soon as it comes into 
the world, and I will make mine, that 
he may live to make as good use of 
life, as one that shall be nameless, is 
now doing at Cambridge. Quid 
voveat majus Matricula dulcis Alum- 

BO ? 

Your ever affectionate. 



M 



102 



LETTER XXII. 



St. Jameses Square, Aug. 28, 1757. 

MY DEAR NEPHEW, 

Nothing can give me 
greater pleasure than the approach- 
ing conclusion of a happy recon- 
ciliation in the family. Your letter 
to *** is the properest that can be 
imagined, and, I doubt not, will 
make the deepest impression on his 
heart. I have been in much pain 



10 



o 



for you (luring all this unseasonable 
weather, and am still apprehensive, 
till I have the satisfaction of hearing 
from you, that your course of sea- 
bathing has been interrupted by such 
gusts of wind as must have rendered 
the sea too rough an element for a 
convalescent to disport in. I trust, 
my dearest nephew, that opening 
scenes of domestic comfort and fa- 
mily-affection will confirm and aug- 
ment every hour the benefits you 
are receiving at Brighthelmston, 
from external and internal medical 
assistances. Lady Hester and Aunt 
Maiy join with me in all good wishes 
for your health and happiness. The 
duplicate * * * mentions having ad- 



104 

dressed to me, has never come to 
hand. I am. 

With truest affection. 

My dearest nephew, 

Ever yours c 



105 



LETTER XXIII. 



St. James's Square, Oct. 27, 1757. 
MY DEAR NEPHEW, 

Inclosed is a letter from 
* * * *^ which came in one to me. I 
heartily wish the contents may be 
agreeable to you. 

I am far from being satisfied, my 
dearest nephew, with the account 
your last letter to my sister gives of 



106 

your health. I had formed the hope 
of your ceasing to be an invalid be- 
fore this time ; but since you must 
submit to be one for this winter, I 
am comforted to find your strength 
is not impaired, as it used to be, by 
the returns of illness you sometimes 
feel^ and I trust the good govern- 
ment you are under, and the forti- 
tude and manly resignation you are 
possessed of, will carry you well 
through this trial of a young man*s 
patience, and bring you out in spring, 
like gold, the better for the proof. 
I rejoice to hear you have a friend 
of great merit to be with you. My 
warmest wishes for your health and 
happiness never fail to follow you. 



107 

Lady Hester desires her best compli- 
ments. Believe me^ 

With the truest affection^ 

Ever yours. 



THE END. 



.S. Gould and Co. Printers. 



^> 



(.35 



